


Forced Control

by GenerallyElusive



Category: Star Wars, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Blood, Choking, Discipline, Dom!Phasma, Dom/sub, F/M, Freeform writing, Humiliation, Kylo Ren is a huge sub, M/M, Making this up as I go along, Masturbation, Oops, Subdrop, Violence, bootlicking, dom!hux
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-07
Updated: 2016-05-11
Packaged: 2018-05-12 11:54:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,487
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5665192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GenerallyElusive/pseuds/GenerallyElusive
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You are to report to the Captain’s quarters. General’s orders.” There was an awkward silence, the trooper beginning to wither slightly beneath the glare of Ren’s mask. Suddenly remembering his rank, the trooper added “Um… S-sir.”</p><p>A further pause. Ren smirked slightly beneath the mask, unbeknownst to the poor messenger. He enjoyed making people uncomfortable. Finally, as the trooper began to squirm slightly, he let him off the hook.</p><p>“General’s orders, huh?”</p><p>“Y-yes Sir.”</p><p>“Mm. Very well. I’ll be along shortly.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you guys enjoy! Phasma/Kylo is such an under-sailed ship, I hope I can kindle some love. <3  
> Also Domme!Phasma is the most fun ever.  
> Also also I kinda love Kylo being a subby little brat and getting #wrekt  
> Definitely more to come, I work on this as inspiration hits. Comments and kudos are always massively appreciated!
> 
> You can find me over on Tumblr: [generallyperfect](http://generallyperfect.tumblr.com/) where I am shameless garbage.

It was fairly common for Kylo Ren to feel as though he were being avoided. Moreso when not participating in some mission or other, which then kept him brooding on the Starkiller. However, there were times when he felt as though entire floors of the base would empty out around him, leaving him stalking the corridors alone. As it happens, these times often occurred after an “Incident”. A term Hux had begun to use to describe Ren’s occasional outbursts of rage. The most recent had ended in an entire console bank having been shredded into melted and sparking hardware by the blade of his sabre. He knew that those stationed with him were wary of his ability with the force. This, combined with these Incidents whether intentional or not, meant everyone gave him a wide berth.

  
A messenger had appeared at the entrance to his quarters and, reluctantly, gained Ren's attention through the bleep of the door's communication system. He almost jumped out of his armour when the door slid open with no warning, revealing the masked enforcer stood just within the doorway.  
  
“Yes?”  
  
“I-.. I, um..” The trooper’s words caught in his throat for a moment, still recovering from his shock. Ren stood, the permanently scowling eyes of his mask staring down at the messenger. Behind the visor however, Ren’s own eyes flicked from the trooper’s helmet, down to his arms and waist. _Unarmed, so not on patrol. Messenger_. From his skittishness, he judged that the trooper was green. _Young_. With another glance, he scanned the small black designation number on the trooper’s armour. _FN. Phasma_. Thankfully, by this point the messenger had regained his nerve, straightened his posture and caught the mask’s gaze as he continued to speak. “You are to report to the Captain’s quarters. General’s orders.” There was an awkward silence, the trooper beginning to wither slightly beneath the glare of Ren’s mask. Suddenly remembering his rank, the trooper added “Um… S-sir.”  
  
A further pause. Ren smirked slightly beneath the mask, unbeknownst to the poor messenger. He enjoyed making people uncomfortable. Finally, as the trooper began to squirm slightly, he let him off the hook.  
  
“General’s orders, huh?”  
  
“Y-yes Sir.”  
  
“Mm. Very well. I’ll be along shortly.”  
  
The trooper continued to stand there, perhaps awaiting a verbal dismissal, before sheepishly nodding and hastily retreating down the corridor away from the persistent stare of the mask. Ren's previous smirk was quickly replaced with a scowl to match his mask after the messenger’s “orders” had fully sunken in. _Summoned? Like a naughty child?_ The smirk returned as a thought crossed the young enforcer's mind. He composed himself, rolling his shoulders as if loosening them up as he stepped backwards, further into his quarters. The door slid shut. _Phasma can wait, and damn the General, too_.  

  
~

  
“You’re late.”  
  
Phasma didn't turn to face the door as she addressed her guest, hearing it slide open. Nor did she turn after it slid closed a moment later. She simply continued to look out of the large window toward the rear of her quarters, gazing out into space. She was fully armoured but for her helmet, and the chromium plating reflected the light of every star, giving her outline a faint blue halo. The helmet was so much a part of the trooper's persona that it was strange seeing her without it, instead revealing smooth, pale skin. Intense blue eyes. A shock of platinum blond hair.  
  
She didn't move. Not a flinch. Even when the vague shape of Kylo Ren could be made out beside her own in the glass panels of the window. His pitch black robes with their soft fabrics, absorbed the light while her armour reflected it. One could barely make his reflection out if it weren't for the ridiculous mask.  
  
“Apologies, _Captain_ ”, he spat. “I came as quickly as I could.”  
  
“No you didn't.” Phasma didn't miss a beat, nor minced her words. Her voice was, as usual, as curt and clipped as always. Everything about her was precise and regimented, including her words.  
  
Ren gave a small hum, belaying the fact he was smirking beneath the mask. “No, you’re right. I didn't.”

“I’ve left my helmet at the door, Ren. Perhaps you would do me the courtesy of removing your own.”

With a moments hesitation, Ren lifted gloved hands up to the twin catches of his mask, flipping the mechanisms to unlock the front and allow for removal. He had barely slipped the thing off before the Captain made a sudden lunge for the lightsaber at his hip. Ren was fast, but Phasma was faster. While one armoured hand yanked the sabre hilt from his belt, before he could move a muscle to bend the force against her, the weight of her other hand connected with his jaw with enough force to knock him over.

Lights danced behind his eyes and upon landing on the floor all of the air was knocked from his lungs. Lightning-fast, Phasma was there, unceremoniously twisting one of his hands behind and beneath his back while using a knee to pin the other by its wrist. She clutched her prize in her free hand, and held it up before his eyes, waiting.

“Insolence is not tolerated.” She remained cool and calm, her voice only raising in volume to make itself heard over Ren’s pained grunts and gasps to regain breath. “You lack discipline. This is also something I cannot tolerate.”

Each time he squirmed to try and escape her grasp, his shoulder burned with pain. The Captain’s armoured knee dug further into his wrist with a cruel twist. He blinked and gave his head a shake, eyes slowly managing to focus blearily upon the lightsaber held before him, taunting him. Her eyes remained trained on his. When Phasma was satisfied he’d seen the hilt, she hooked it onto the back of her belt.

“Wh-..” Ren tried to speak, coughed, and tried again. “What are you going to do, take all of my toys away until I behave?” Attempting to move was too painful and seemingly futile, so he resigned himself to lying still, glaring sullenly up at the trooper Captain.

“Is that what it will take to have you learn some control?”

“I can control myself. Release me and I’ll show you just how much _control_ I can exert.”

The calm, placid expression so often worn by the Captain was broken with a smirk as her eyes narrowed.

“You think your pathetic powers frighten me? It may cause a shiver or two amongst the greenest of my troopers, but you do not scare me.”

“Then _release_ me!”

Phasma leaned back, away from Ren’s shouting. A storm of red flashed through her mind as his rage overflowed and pushed from his consciousness into hers. It subsided quickly as her iron will and clear mind left him little to work with. She found it amusing, his tenuous, infantile grasp on so colossal a power as the force, and he uses it to accentuate his temper tantrums.

“Where would be the reason in that? You wouldn’t learn anything.” A patronising smirk played across her lips.

Ren turned his head and spat a mouthful of blood against the shiny armour plate covering the Captain’s thigh. 

“I’ve learned enough” he growled.

Her eyes flicked over to watch the glob of spit and blood trace a crimson trail down to her knee, where it began to soak into the enforcer’s robe. She shook her head.

“ _Tsk tsk_. Such hatred. Such _passion_. I suppose this is what Snoke latched onto. Made you kill your friends, turn against your family...”

“You know _nothing_ about me!”

“Am I wrong?”

Words caught in Ren’s throat and he choked them back. He jerked his head up and off of the floor with a furious scream, savagely wrenching the shoulder of the arm twisted behind his back in the process. Collapsing back onto the floor, he cried out, baring his teeth as pain flooded down his arm and across his chest. Phasma didn’t relinquish her grasp one iota. She simply waited for his squirming, kicking and screaming to subside. Eventually, defeated and through heavy breaths, he spoke again.

“What.. would _you_ know about passion…”

Phasma leaned in, slowly. His eyes were closed tight as he willed the pain in his shoulder to subside, but he could feel her breath on his face. Her voice had lowered to something just above a whisper.

“You’re not the only one to make sacrifices. To cut loose the things that you hold dear in order for your plans and beliefs to succeed. I’ve been doing this for far longer than you. I could teach you _much_ about passion.”

He finally met her gaze. Staring defiantly up into the Captain's cold blue eyes.

“ _You_ could teach _me_?” He laughed, immediately regretting the decision as another stab of pain lanced through his shoulder.

“I could teach you many things. Things you so desperately need to learn.” Her gaze was piercing and he was beginning to find it difficult to hold. “But passion we can cover later. For now, discipline.”

Ren grunted and finally looked away, turning his head to stare out of the window into the void of space. Phasma laughed, a low and sultry sound, rarely heard.

“Like a sulking child.” When this prompted no response from the enforcer, she continued. “Fine then, we’ll have it your way. Do you think the Order has time to restore the damage you leave in your wake? That anyone should have to deal with your dramatic outbursts each time you fail to restrain your emotions?”

“My _emotions_ , Captain, are none of the Order’s concern.”

“Tell that to the maintenance staff." 

He scoffed, but otherwise remained still and silent, pointedly avoiding her gaze.

"If you’re going to remain pliant and can discuss this like an adult, I can let you up-”

“Oh but I was _so_ enjoying myself.”

“...If you’re going to be _petulant_   I can break your wrists. We’ll see how you wield your pretty lightsaber then.”

"Ugh.." 

Unsatisfied, Phasma leaned to one side, shifting her weight onto the knee pinning his wrist. Ren’s disapproval quickly altered into a yelp of pain. 

“ _Alright_! Release me!”

“Make a move. _One_ move, and I’ll take you down faster than you can blink.”

A grunt of agreement. The Captain finally loosened her iron grip, rising backwards and up to a standing position in one fluid motion. Ren was less graceful, sucking air through his teeth in a sharp hiss as he clambered  to his feet and gingerly rubbed his wrist. Usually he could scowl down at those he was dealing with, so he always found himself at an uncomfortable loss around Phasma. She was practically the only person on the base who could meet his eye, and she did so now without a flinch.

“I'm not sure of the training you've received in the past or that you are receiving now. Regardless of whether or not you _should_ feel anger, if you let it get the better of you, it will be your downfall.”

“You’re an expert on using the force, now?” Ren knew after he’d spoken that his tone was sarcastic and surly, and was mildly embarrassed by it.

“That is not what I said.” Phasma was the epitome of calm. Ren thought back to her previous remark, perhaps she truly wasn't afraid of him at all. The thought was unnerving. She took a few paces back and turned to face the window again, arms casually held behind her back. “Only that your temper will get you killed if you cannot control it.”

“I-..” Another sarcastic remark was on the tip of his tongue, but before he could voice it, her words sunk in. He gave a resigned sigh. “You’re right.”

If she was taken aback, she didn’t show it.

“Of course I am.”

Ren scoffed at her confidence, pacing the few steps to rejoin her side at the window, trying to ignore the ache in his shoulder. As he moved, he made note of his sabre which still hung from the back of the Captain’s belt. Pulling up beside the trooper, he mimicked her stance, lips thinning as he tried to control his expression, the pain in his shoulder a dull throb.

“You sound like you speak from experience, Captain.”

“As I said, I’ve been doing this for a lot longer than you. It has taken plenty of fire to harden my resolve. To dedicate myself to the Order. To be the best I can be."

Ren rolled his eyes, his lip curling into a sneer. “You sound like a recruitment holo.”

Another low laugh from the Captain.

“You mock me, Ren? Poster boy for the Order. Snoke's pet project. So _desperate_ to follow in the foosteps of-..”

“Do _not_ speak his name!”

“- Vader.” She angled her head, caught his furious glare and held it. The humour in her eyes incensed him further. “There’s that temper again. You really are bad at this.”

“I’m getting tired of your tone, Captain.”

“Then stop giving me cause to use it.”

As she turned away, he seized his opportunity, spreading the fingers of one hand wide and willing the hilt of his sabre into his grasp. A chromium-plated elbow found his nose before he even saw it coming, and he fumbled the catch as the sabre jerked from its position on the Captain’s belt through the air. It clipped the tips of his fingers and span off into the emptiness of the room as his other hand swung up in an attempt to retaliate, fingers already curled into the beginnings of a force choke. Phasma however had other ideas. Whipping around, one armoured fist caught Ren squarely in his wounded shoulder, the other flying back up, grabbing him roughly around the throat and stifling his cries of pain. With several broad strides and seemingly no effort, Phasma threw the younger enforcer in her grasp against the wall of her chambers. Hard. They were sparse, there was little collateral damage.

“You’re not the only one who can choke people, _boy_.” Phasma hissed, a new fire behind her eyes that hadn't been there before. “And I don’t need any fancy tricks to do it.”

Ren gasped for breath, coughing a spray of blood across the sheen of the Captain’s breastplate as it streamed from his nose. He saw the fierceness in her eyes, the grin on her face. He thought about begging for mercy. Considered spitting in her face. Before he’d settled on anything however, his mouth jumped the gun.

“Ngh-.. Now who’s… losing their…. temper.”

Despite himself, he grinned, teeth smeared with blood. Surprisingly, Phasma matched it. Her smile was as unnerving as her silence.

“I learned to control mine, boy. Time for you to learn to control yours-..”

All witty retorts were quite literally choked from his mind as he attempted to speak, her grip tightening before he could voice them.

" ** _No_**. _Listen_." The Captain drew close, pressing her body against his as she hissed her words, her face barely inches away. "Too hard have I worked to ensure that the Order reaches the potential it is destined for. _Too hard_. I have fought and I have killed to _earn_ my position. I swallowed my anger, before it consumed me. It made me _stronger_." Ren coughed weakly, blood dripping from his chin onto the Captain's wrist. His arms were free, but he was transfixed by her stare, unwilling to move. "Anger can be a strength, but it is just as likely to be a weakness if left unchecked. I have learned this." Phasma continued, some of the earlier wrath fading from her voice but no less potent. "As it stands, you are a threat to the Order. You not only put yourself at risk, but your actions could cost lives other than your own. _That_  makes your emotions my concern."

For a moment, after the Captain had finished speaking, the silence was punctuated only by the gurgling, laboured breaths of the man in her grip. She reached up with her other hand, lightly brushing a stray lock of dark hair from Ren's bloodied face. While her expression never changed, there was a flash of softness in her eyes, before being almost immediately banished. She stepped back, simultaneously releasing his throat and throwing him to the floor in one motion. He fell, spluttering, to his hands and knees, his body shaking with ragged gasps. Phasma, as if nothing had happened, paced to the corner of her quarters and retrieved the sabre hilt from where it had found itself in the fracas.  Moving across to the other side of the room, she swiftly dialled a code into the keypad of a locker, shutting the sabre inside before returning to Ren. Blood dripped from his lips, from his chin, spattering between his hands on the floor.

"You will learn some discipline, Kylo."

She spoke just as softly as usual, yet her voice contained less of its usual steel. He had never heard her use that name before. She took a knee before him, and lifted his chin until their eyes met once again. All of his previous defiance was gone, and he was no longer making any attempt to conceal his pain.

"Leave. Rest. Soon we begin, and you'll need your strength."


	2. Chapter 2

It wasn't so much the physical wounds that vexed him. The pulled shoulder, sprained wrist and broken nose were healing well, as always. Perks of the dark side, bending the force to speed recovery, aid the healing process, etcetera, etcetera. The bruising around his neck was, blessedly, hidden by the tall collars of his robes.

No, his physical wounds were coming along nicely. His pride, however, had suffered a dire blow.

She had defeated him so easily, it was almost laughable. Upon storming back to his own quarters, sans-lightsaber and feeling sorry for himself, Kylo had retreated to the bathroom to clean himself up. The cold water was a refreshing shock to the system, helping to pierce through the haze of fury and.. confusion.. clouding his mind. As with most things on Starkiller, the enamel basin of the sink was black, remarkably good for hiding the crimson stain of his defeat as it drained away. Catching sight of himself in the mirror, the bridge of his nose sore and swollen, he found he couldn't look himself in the eye.

 _Weak_.

Gripping the edge of the basin with both hands, he gritted his teeth together and forced himself to look at the damage _she_ had wrought.

_Pathetic. You let her beat you._

He scowled, jaw clenching. The leather of his gloves pulled tight around his knuckles, material straining as his grip tightened.

 _Twice_.

Enough. He broke his own stare with a roar, squeezing his eyes shut as the mirror shattered. The shockwave upset almost every item in the room which wasn't screwed down, as fragments of mirrored glass scattered everywhere.

Upon reflection, he was amazed they continued replacing the mirrors.

~

He had stayed away for three days. The blank space at his hip where his saber hilt usually hung was a constant reminder of his failure at the hands of the trooper captain. He found it odd that nobody questioned it, however he presumed that was due to their ignorance regarding the saber itself and what it means for a Jedi, or.. whatever he was.. to be without theirs.

Phasma hadn't checked in on him. Left no messages and the handful of times their paths had crossed, had barely registered his existence. Just as it had been before. At first Kylo was determined that he would win this game, if indeed it was a game, and woe betide the messenger who came calling to bring the captain's summons. No messenger came, and Kylo's subconscious thoughts were beginning to betray him. After all, hadn't he been trained and moulded to obey? He could tell himself he would reject any and all of Phasma's “orders” and instruction as much as he wanted, yet there was a part of his mind that drifted back every now and then. Usually before he fell asleep or even during sleep itself in the form of hazy dreams. It re-affirmed in his mind that he had been the more powerful of the two in the room that evening. He could have overpowered her at any point, choked the life from her body. He could have simply forced her heart to stop beating, or explode in her chest. So many options, and yet, he chose none of them. Instead he, begrudgingly, had accepted his defeat, even going as far as allowing her to continue breathing after she'd released him, having held him by the throat and discarding him to the floor. He'd glared furiously through eyes brimming with hot tears, bent over on his hands and knees, at the blood dripping from his mouth and nose onto pristine black tiles. He had remained there, gasping for breath through the swelling of his throat and the oppressive heat of his own anger, limbs trembling from contained rage.

And he had liked it.

Some part of him had, anyway. The challenge, the blood, the fear. Phasma had issued her clipped, curt instructions, with her fingers around his throat, and he had obeyed.

“ _ **No**. Listen.”_

The realization that a small, disgraceful part of himself had been _fine_ with that evenings events only made the rest of him more angry. He'd spent more time than he'd like to admit trying to figure out why and aside from presuming it was the lack of oxygen to his brain, he couldn't work it out. As he stalked the corridors of Starkiller on his way to Phasma's chambers on the evening of the third day, he mentally organized his reasoning for doing so in order to rationalize it:

  1. _Retrieve saber._

  2. _Give Phasma a taste of her own medicine._

  3. _Try to figure out what on earth possessed him to do as he was told._

  4. _~~More. Receive more. More orders. More fear. More blood.~~  
NO. Nope. None of that. Stop._




The last point snuck up on him as he rounded the corner to the corridor Phasma's chambers branched off from and he had to shake his head to dislodge the treasonous thought. It was actually more of a feeling than a thought, and originating from somewhere other than his brain. His hind-brain perhaps. Or from somewhere deep in his chest. A combination of both, he realized, with a nasty muttering of support from somewhere in the region of his crotch.

_What. The fuck._

Kylo was no more than twenty paces from Phasma's door and closing.

_What am I doing._

If there was ever a time he was glad of the protection of his helmet, now was that time. His expression of confusion, anger, concentration and mild panic obscured by the black and chrome scowl of the mask.

_Get in. Get your saber. Get out._

He pulled up sharply at her door and briefly considered forcing it open. It would be so easy.

  1. ~~_More. More orders. Receive your training. She was right. You are weak. Pathetic. She can teach you._~~




Shaking his head again, the hand he had raised to wrench the door aside paused in mid-air, before reaching out further and punching a hailing code into the door's communication pad.

_Idiot. Idiot. Idiot. Idiot._

~

The door slid open, yet there was nobody within reach of the controls at the other side. Kylo's eyes scanned the room for signs of Phasma lurking out of sight, panic rising in a chill up his spine as he worried about the possibility of another force-user having opened the door as he had intended to. A flash of chrome caught his eye. Phasma moved from her static position by the expansive window near the back of her chambers, placing her helmet upon a slim side table. Faint relief washed through him.

_Voice control. Of course._

He realized he'd been standing outside of the open door for longer than seemed reasonable, and stepped out of the corridor and into the gloom of Phasma's chambers. The sterile, standard lighting of the base was thankfully not replicated within officer's chambers, and they could dial the lighting up or down as they chose. The sun had recently set, and the room was poorly lit while the last of the sunlight drained away. Kylo pondered for a moment if Phasma had expected him. He reached out, unable as yet to probe another person's mind without considerable, obvious effort, to try and scope her mood. As always, the trooper radiated utter calm, giving him absolutely nothing to work with. How perfectly frustrating.

Kylo was several steps into the room before Phasma called over to him. He could see the movement of her mouth in the glass of the window as she gazed out of it, her back to him as it had been the first time he'd stepped foot in her quarters.

“Helmet.”

He froze, unable to help himself, before forcing movement again, trying not to make it obvious how irritated with himself he was. The foot which had been about to take a further stop forward, lowered back down to the floor. As his thumbs reached up beneath his helmet, faceplate slipping forwards and up with a hiss, he even took a few steps back to place the thing on a shelf by the door. He tried to quell the self-loathing with the memory of what had happened last time when he'd been caught unprepared. Tongue slipping up beneath his upper lip over his front teeth, tasting the wounds still healing from when she'd split his lip. Shaking out his hair, he turned and continued on toward the captain. He noticed she was wearing less of her usual armoured layers than before. Not only was the helmet missing, but her upper body was stripped down to its tight black undersuit, all the way down to her elbows where she still wore her armoured gauntlets and forearm plates. The standard belt hung at her waist, chrome plates glinting all the way down to her boots. He tried to ignore the way that the black material of her undersuit clung to her waist, her arms, her shoulders. Her chest. Halfway across the room he cleared his throat in a manner he hoped was throwaway and casual, deciding to break the silence himself rather than stew in it any longer.

“I'll have my saber back now, _Captain_.”

The captain continued to stare out of the window, arms relaxed behind her back. She didn't respond, however he could see in her reflection that a corner of her mouth had raised in a slight smirk, heard her breathe a short “hmpf” of laughter through her nose.

“You will have no such thing.”

Kylo struggled to prevent a growl from entering his voice as he stormed over to the trooper's side, aware of himself in the reflection and trying to pretend he looked intimidating rather than slightly petulant and childish.

“You've had your fun. I've got things to do, I need my weapon back. I'll be leaving with it on my belt whether you permit it or not.”

Another low, calm hum of amusement from Phasma. Her eyes slid to one side to meet his, before her whole head turned to face him. She glanced down, then back up, giving him a quick once-over. The small, shameful feeling in the pit of his stomach flared up again. He willed himself not to swallow. It would be audible. He would never forgive himself.

Spared further scrutiny, Phasma casually returned her gaze to the window before addressing him. He noticed that she rarely addressed him directly to his face. The tight feeling in his stomach burned.

“You come to my chambers and deign to tell _me_ how things are going to happen?”

Kylo stared at her neck, covered up to her jawline in tightly stretched black material. It would be so easy. Just reach out, and make her choke on her words.

“And to think.. I thought you actually might have wanted to learn something.”

It took the faint cracking of a knuckle or two for Kylo to realize his hands were balled into fists so tightly that had he not been wearing gloves his nails would have sunk into the flesh of his palms. Turning on his heel, he stalked over to the locker where Phasma had stowed his saber three nights ago.

“I don't have time for this.” He hissed.

He reached out, fingers curled into claws as they took a grip from several paces away on the electronic pad of the locker. It made a sad fizzing noise and spat a few sparks as the Force crushed the functionality out of its circuits. He'd been ready to wrench his arm back, tearing the locker door from its hinges.

“Kylo..”

Phasma's voice, so calm, drifted across the room, barely audible through the distance and the sound of blood rushing angrily through his ears. Not even a command, yet it stilled his hand, outstretched, the other still tightly pulled into a fist, yet both trembling.

_Why have you stopped. What's wrong with you? Get a GRIP._

He heard her armoured boots make their way from the window, down the few steps from the upper level of what stood for a living room, down to the lower level near the entrance where he stood as if someone had pressed pause on a holo.

_Get a grip on yourself. Your saber. Her neck. SOMETHING._

He felt her presence behind him, refusing.. or unable.. to turn his head. He briefly returned to the theory he'd had of her being some kind of hidden Force-user, in hopes of explaining this strange power she held over him, however all of his senses told him this was not the case.

_No, you're just an IDIOT._

“Relax and turn around.”

While her words had stopped him in his tracks, he found it as difficult to move now as it had been to try and defy her. He at least found some comfort in this, that he hadn't completely lost his mind. Slowly, he lowered the hand extended toward the locker, placing both by his sides. Turning his head first to look over his shoulder at the trooper, the rest of his body followed suit. He was breathing steadily yet heavily through his nose, lips pressed together as his teeth clenched. He tried to look calm, knowing however that it didn't take being a Force-user to tell he was seething inwardly. If looks could kill, no doctor alive would have been able to save Phasma.

She was arms length away. He wouldn't even need to use the Force, he could do it with his bare hands.

“Good.”

One word, spoken in that same clipped voice. Kylo choked back disgust, feeling patronized and pathetic, yet painfully aware of the traitorous corners of his body thrumming with... what, pleasure? No. There was nothing pleasant about this. But it felt... good?

_It's nothing. You're just used to following orders._

Phasma took a half-step forward, closing the gap between them slightly. Kylo became uncomfortably aware again of how tall she was. Imposing. She reached up and out, brushing chromium-plated fingertips along his jawline, from just below his earlobe to his chin. His instinct wanted him to recoil from the touch, yet, here he stood. The same dull ache in his chest. The same acquiescence in the back of his mind. A new player entered the fray in the form of a stirring in the region of his dick.

_Well, that's just perfect._

“Very good.”

Her eyes were just as icy, yet weren't judging him any more. No longer boring into his own, they were almost soft again, as they had been when he'd been struggling for his breath, on his knees, drooling blood onto the tiles of this very room. Soft yet still the eyes of a hardened soldier. The hunger and patience of a predator. Phasma's fingertips hooked on the edge of the high collar around his neck, running around it's edge to the side of his neck where one would find a pulse, and tugging it down slightly. She didn't have to pull very far at all to see the smudged purple remnants of the bruises she'd left, despite Kylo's faster than average healing speed. He could have sworn he saw a glint in her eyes as her fingertips retreated, her gaze returning to his, clearly satisfied with what she'd seen.

“I can feel the anger radiating off of you, like a tiny sun.”

_Tiny?_

“I'll admit, I didn't expect you to return so soon. Nor for you to be so... _compliant_.. so quickly.”

The leather of Kylo's gloves squeaked as his fists clenched tightly once more.

“All a means to an end, _Captain_.”

Phasma breathed out through her nose, the barest, faintest trace of a laugh. Everything was bare minimum with her. She gave you only as much as she felt you needed, no more. If you missed it, you clearly weren't paying enough attention.

“You continue to use my title as if it were a joke.”

“Would you prefer _Phasma_?”

A blur of movement. A glint of silver. The slap came hard and fast across the side of Kylo's face and then suddenly everything was stars. He staggered back, shoulders falling roughly against the steel frame of the lockers, one hand raised to his cheek. He could feel the burn of his skin rising through his gloves already. After a second, when the shock of what had happened had passed and the lights had ceased dancing before his eyes, he stared at Phasma, bewildered. And angry, of course. Phasma had barely moved, short of widening her stance slightly, as if casually preparing for some kind of retaliation. Her right arm was bent at the elbow, the fingers of her hand flexing to take the edge of the impact away.

“Captain will suffice.”

The softness in her eyes had melted away and Kylo could see she was all business. This at least gave him some slight satisfaction in that, at least for the moment, she perceived him as a threat.

“Do you hope to break me with force, _Captain_.”

“Only if you make me.”

Kylo wasn't sure how to respond to that. Rubbing at his jaw, he frowned, both at the dull ache in the side of his face, and at her words. What did that even mean? And why would he “make her” do so? Through resisting? Through his own desire? This was more than he'd bargained for when he'd stepped into the room..

“What-.. what are my other options.”

Kylo resisted flinching as she relaxed her stance and stepped closer to him, placing an armoured hand over the top of his own at the side of his face. In a gesture as tender and confusing as the last time he'd been in her presence, her thumb brushed over his cheekbone. Admittedly her other hand wasn't throttling him at the same time, but it was still equally as surprising.

“The other option is that you come willingly.” Her voice was low and soft, marginally less curt than usual, yet still retaining her sharp accent. Her tone was almost playful, yet there was still authority there. It's possible the trooper couldn't stop exuding authority if she tried.

He'd wondered what Phasma's promised training would entail. Had briefly considered submitting to it without a fight purely out of curiosity. He'd envisioned a lecture. Various drills and training procedures akin to those he often saw the trooper recruits subjected to. He'd never expected this.

“I take it from the absence of Force-tricks and tantrums that you intend on choosing the second option?” Phasma practically purred.

Kylo's words caught in his throat and he tried speaking them again after swallowing awkwardly.

“Wh-..Who says I intend on choosing either?” He tried to ignore the way his heart had started hammering against the inside of his chest.

_This is new. This is new and strange. Is this fear? No... Fear would be familiar..._

“You haven't run. You haven't fought, even when prompted. You stand and you accept me being this close to you.” Her fingers wriggled to press their way in between his own. The small armoured plates were firm and warm against his skin. “Your very presence here tonight is a choice. Everything you've done, or not done. A _choice_.”

Kylo said nothing. In doing so, he said everything. He could see it in Phasma's eyes.

“It will be hard. You will be tempted to leave. To fight. I can tell you will be... a challenge. But you will learn, and it _will_ make you stronger.”

She'd drawn up against him again, the plates of her armour cold against his thighs where they pushed through his robes. The warmth of her stomach, her chest, pressed against his, slowly making its way through the layers of black cloth. A small part of him wished there were fewer layers of material for it to move through.

“This is your last chance. No blood on the tiles this time. You can leave and we will speak no further of any of this.”

Kylo felt it again. The same strange feeling in his stomach. This time he also felt fear, too, yet the promise of power, of strength, and the way she was looking at him, was enticing. Intoxicating. His own curiosity pushed him to want to know more. To _need_ to know.

Phasma had paused. Kylo looked away from the window where his eyes had drifted, meeting Phasma's cool stare. He didn't say anything, simply waited..

“So be it.”

Her other armoured hand rose to his throat once again, curling its fingers around the high, ribbed collar to press against the still-healing bruises. Not with the same intensity as before when she'd initially created them, yet the pressure was enough. The majority of Kylo's sentient mind wanted to squirm free, to push her away and leave, to lock himself up in his chambers and try to figure out what the hell was going on. But whatever small part of his mind had driven him here that night was continuing to drive him now. He had enough time to suck a sharp hiss of air through his teeth at the aggravation of the old wounds, before Phasma spoke again. She was so close that the breath from her words tickled against his lips.

“Your compliance is duly noted and appreciated.”

So clinical, so precise. Kylo went to sneer yet had the thought swept from his mind as the trooper increased her grip on his neck.

“Ngh.. _Alright_! Alright, yes.. good.. I'm glad.” He squirmed as he spoke, embarrassed by the strangled pressure in his voice as he garbled the words he hoped she wanted to hear.

Phasma chuckled under her breath, blue eyes still scrutinizing him, one hand moving to run its armoured fingers through the hair at his temple while the other held him in place by old bruises.

“You're glad?” Her tone playful again.

This time he managed to scowl at her without reproach. He stopped his squirming, met her gaze and spoke in a tone he hoped was as firm as he intended.

“...Yes.”

Phasma's usually still features twitched in a snarl. Twisting her hips, her knee jolted into the side of Kylo's own, causing his legs to buckle. As he lost his balance, entirely unprepared, her hands pushed him down to land hard on his knees. The hand previously weaving its fingers so gently through his hair had grabbed a handful of it close to the scalp, keeping him upright as he fell and pulling his head back. His hands instinctively grabbed at her stomach, her thigh, to try and retain his balance. Phasma didn't bend or tilt her head more than a fraction as she spoke down to him, in a voice devoid of any previous implication of fun.

“ _Yes_ , _**what**_.”

She'd barely raised her voice at all, yet the words rang in his ears. Wincing at the fist cruelly pulling at his hair, keeping his head up and back, exposing his bruised throat. Fully aware of the sharp pain in his knees, of his hands against her body, and the shameful erection straining at the inside of his pants, he licked his lips before he responded.

“Yes.. Captain.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More shameless Phaslo. A continuation of the previous chapter.  
> I know I'm taunting you all with the promise of smut but I'll get there eventually, I promise. <3
> 
> Enjoy!~


	3. Chapter 3

The Captain's.. "sessions"... were gruelling.

Kylo was expected to report when instructed, and even had orders to come to Phasma uninvited should he ever feel his self-control slipping. The very notion of receiving orders from the Captain had been, at first, infuriating to Kylo. The audacity of the woman, to think that she could issue commands to Supreme Leader Snoke's favourite, his Knight, his second in command. Well, if you were to ignore General Hux's protestations. Yet, he obeyed. As best he could, anyway. He told himself that he was simply indulging a curiosity, that he was both intrigued at what the Captain's end-game was, and also if her "teachings" could indeed grant him greater strength and power. He found that in certain parts of his body outside of the conscious control of his mind however, the areas controlled by base instinct, simply _wanted_ to obey.

There were no prizes to earn. No special treatment or gifts. The rewards were not tangible, but they were there. The subtle way in which the corners of Phasma's lips would raise in a ghost of a smile. The brief, short words of praise.

_"Well done."_

_"Good."_

It was ridiculous, but something in his chest swelled each time. Some starved area of his psyche buzzed with satisfaction from the fulfilment of a bizarre need he hadn't noticed he'd had before. It was somehow.. different, to serving Snoke. There were punishments, too, of course. When he deigned to step out of line, either unintentionally when his emotions and temper got the better of him, or sometimes purposefully. There was a part of him that enjoyed provoking the Captain, pushing his boundaries. Sometimes he even tried to fight back, battle-lust rising to cloud his vision in a misty red haze. He would grin, blood seeping between his teeth as they exchanged blows. "Exchanged" was probably too charitable a word, as he often received more than he gave. He'd lie in bed afterwards, the dull ache from fresh injuries throbbing, and try to ignore the nagging question of why he had brought this on himself. Even more concerning was why he enjoyed it so much, but he was starting to accept it. He would run his tongue over split lips, press cooling ice packs over swollen eyes, and spend the rest of the night with the taste of copper in his mouth.

And then, it happened. The first time had been... distressing. He'd retired to his quarters after a particularly fierce meeting with Phasma and caught himself in the shower, gripping his dick, furiously stroking and desperate for the release he found he craved each time he returned from her chambers. He had paused only briefly upon realizing, but the desire was too strong. He'd finished, but had been thoroughly confused by the entire situation. The second time he'd been putting it off for weeks, and went about the task with the furious efficiency of a man overcome with shame. By the third, he was starting to become frustrated with the entire arrangement. The way in which the Captain's words and actions would arouse him, despite his best intentions and attempts to fight it off. The way he would always go back. That he found himself returning to her door for more, knowing it would never end in the release and satisfaction he needed. He spent his nights nursing loose teeth and fresh bruises with his hands around his cock, re-opening the cuts on his knuckles as his grip tightened, holding his breath to prevent the moans and gasps betraying his shame. The rest of the time he spent trying to get to the bottom of what was drawing him back.

First and foremost, he supposed, there was the obvious physical attraction. There was clearly something going on inside of himself which was being unearthed. Something he'd apparently never tapped into before. He was struggling to deal with it, viewing it only as something he should be concerned about. Why would a fully grown man of his status and power have feelings like this? It had certainly never made itself known during "normal" training, either in his youth or more recently with the First Order. Certainly not when training with Snoke. The very thought made him shudder in revulsion. He wasn't sure it was specifically Phasma at the root of his arousal. She had never really made her way into his mind while relieving himself after the tension had built up to boiling point. To test the theory, he'd tried thinking of her on an evening when he _hadn't_ frequented her quarters, and found it didn't quite have the same charge. It was undeniable though that her hold over him was powerful. Her authority radiated like an almost tangible force. She rarely gave him tasks or commands to complete outside of their time together, however the repeated, overarching message of " _Control yourself, Kylo Ren_ " was beginning to weave itself through his daily life. So much so that he would imagine her clipped, accented voice each time he found himself slipping. Each time he was faced with a frustrating setback, or a member of the Order was being an incompetent fool. He found that he didn't want to tempt fate by giving up and returning to his old ways in a bout of tempestuous rage, just to see what would happen. It wasn't that he feared any kind of physical reproach from Phasma, more that she may decide he had learned nothing, and would stop seeing him. Now that he'd unleashed this part of himself, he found it difficult to lock away again.

He wondered if she knew. He figured that she _must_ know, exactly what he was feeling and thinking during their time together. His robes were fairly loose, but he didn't figure her for an idiot. He'd wondered on occassion whether she felt the same way, at times. Particularly when he'd been forced to his knees before her, his blood on her hands as her fingers bunched up a handful of his hair. Pulling his head back and hissing her condemnation into his ear. The tension was often palpable between them, catching each others eyes and daring the other to make a move. There had been touches, brief and fleeting, soft and gentle, which had pierced through the smothering fog of blood and shame and obediance and they had confused him. A fingertip under his chin to gently lift his head a rather stark contrast to a fist in his hair. A breath over his lips, her own so close after she'd drawn in to press against his body. Such sporadic, random moments of tenderness amongst an otherwise bipolar relationship swinging between strict, calm obediance and chaotic, bloody castigation. “Relationship”. If that was even the correct word for whatever arrangement was in place. Of all the time they spent together, and it wasn't in all honesty that much due to their busy schedules, those moments stuck in his mind vividly. He wondered if she might have feelings for him, that she had felt something that she was locking out or shutting down, utilizing her own almost infallible self-control. That those rare, soft moments seemed like a lapse. A flaw in the armour. A peek behind the curtain.

~

It had been over a week. He'd been doing very well, he thought, at exercising his self-control. Compared to its previous state, at the very least. He had found himself avoiding Phasma though, as he wasn't sure that he could last another session without resorting to further shameful ministrations in his quarters by himself. He was determined to break the habit, or at least see how far he could push himself. If only because the release was becoming less and less sweet. He had growing concerns that he was beginning to need more than sharp words and bloody knuckles, but he had no idea what that might be. The prospect of living in a state of permanent unfulfillment was not a pleasant one, so he was trying to avoid it as best he could. That is, until...

He could only ignore the incessant trilling of the communication panel beside his door for so long. Opening one eye and glaring at it from a seat in what passed for a living room in his quarters, where he had been trying to meditate, Kylo sighed heavily through his nose. From the tone, he could tell that it wasn't anyone on the other side of his door trying to gain his attention, rather someone from elsewhere on the ship. He'd come close on several occasions to threatening one of the comms maintenance staff into disabling that particular feature of his panel, but had decided against it. Each time it went off, though, he regretted that decision.

Whoever was calling, was persistant. After a minute of waiting, they hadn't given up, and Kylo clearly had less patience than they did. Heaving himself to his feet, he ambled over to the panel and leant one forearm against the wall beside it. With another defeated sigh, he pressed the button to accept the call.

"What" he managed to mumble, less irritated at the interruption and more.. tired. So tired. He rested his forehead against the coolness of the smooth, black wall panel, awaiting the usual stuttered apologies and pleas for him to attend some meeting or other, if it please him. Instead, the icicle-sharp tones of the Captain, only slightly distorted by the hiss and crackle of the comms unit, pierced through the speakers. She didn't stutter. She didn't plead. Kylo's whole body tensed up, straightening his posture as if she'd suddenly appeared in the room to address him. He felt a bit foolish, realizing that there was no way she could see him regardless of how he looked.

"Lord Ren, your presence has been requested. Conference room eighteen, sector six, level twelve."

"Ph-.." he caught himself partway through her name, but only just. "..Captain?"

"Need I repeat myself?"

He felt his cheeks colouring.  
  
"No ma'am."

"Good. Oh and Lord Ren.."

"Y-yes?"

"I do hope that when I say your direct attention is required, your history of poor timekeeping will not be an issue."

Kylo clenched his teeth together. Any other member of the crew aboard the ship speaking to him in this way would earn themselves a short, sharp lesson in Not Antagonizing The Force User. Phasma though..

"No, Captain."

The call ended abruptly with the comm system bleeping its "ended" confirmation. No sign off. Kylo was immediately torn, between grabbing his helmet and rushing to the Captain, and utter revulsion at what he had become. Is this how she wanted him? Jumping at her orders, pliant and subservient. It was entirely unbecoming of him, and the boiling mixing-pot of emotions it set bubbling each time she dealt with him was eternally perplexing. He felt... humiliated, and angry... yet something else was stirring whithin him. Something tied to baser functions, and it felt... good? Yet, in feeling _good_ , in _giving in_ to whatever that desire was, it only served to make him angrier. At himself. At _her_ for putting him through all of this. Life had been much simpler before.

~

Kylo storme through the cold corridors of the base, desperately trying to memorize the room number and its location. Asking for Phasma to repeat herself was entirely out of the question, if only as a matter of personal pride.

_Conference room eighteen. Sector six. Level twelve._

_Conference room eighteen. Sector six. Level twelve._

_Eighteen. Six. Twelve._

Going over the numbers in his head over and over again at least served to keep him occupied and distracted from wondering why exactly he was being summoned. Or who indeed had requested his attendance, as Phasma's wording alluded to it being someone other than herself. The corridors cleared before him, as usual, and he rode most of the elevators alone, save for a lone technician who looked as if he wanted the ground to open up and swallow him rather than suffer another moment in Kylo's stifling presence.

_Conference room eighteen. Sector six. Level twelve._

He pulled up short of the conference room door to adjust his stance and get his head back in the game. Regardless of what lay behind the door, they couldn't know what had been going on in Phasma's chambers, or his own afterwards for that matter. It was likely some visiting dignitary he was being paraded in front of, like a prized animal. Someone who had been regailed with tales of Snoke's pet force-user and wished to see with their own eyes. It had happened before, he hadn't been pleased. He hoped instead for something else, anything else, even one of the exceptionally dull statistical briefings he'd quickly learnt to avoid.

The door slid open with its usual quiet hiss. A long conference table flanked by uniform rows of uncomfortable looking chairs stretched down the length of the room until they reached the head of the table where..

_..Oh.._

Phasma was standing, resplendent in her armour yet strangely missing her helmet, beside the chair currently occupied by General Hux. Rather less resplendent in that idiotic hat. The hairs on the back of Kylo's neck began to stand on end, he had a bad feeling about this.

"Lord Ren, good of you to join us." Hux barely raised his voice to speak but the sound travelled very well. Kylo put it down to good accoustics in the room rather than the more likely reason of Hux being a fine public speaker. He checked the data strip on his wrist, more for theatrics, Kylo suspected, than actual desire to check the time. "And you made such good time. Well done."

Kylo took a moment to appreciate his helmet, covering the snarl on his lips. The growl in his voice was moderately masked by the voice alteration, however he noted the Captain's eyes narrowing slightly at his response.

"I was _told_ that my presence was requested. That it required my direct attention. What exactly have you called me all the way down here for?"

The General leant forward in his chair, resting his elbows on the tabletop and steepling his fingers. He stared at Kylo for a moment, as if appraising him.

"I wish to see if Phasma's.. training, has paid off."

Kylo felt the heat from the sudden flushing of his skin prickle over his cheeks and all the way down his neck. How did he know? How _much_ does he know? His eyes flicked across to Phasma whose expression never wavered. Her hand was resting casually on the back of Hux's chair. The faint feeling of concern from earlier was growing rapidly into a full-scale panic. His fists tightened, knuckles pulling the leather of his gloves taut.

Hux smirked. This was bad, the General was renowned for constantly looking as though he were dealing with an unfortunate case of heartburn. There had been rumours that a petty officer had seen him smile, once, when told how soon Starkiller would become operational as a weapon. It had been described as "eerie".

"So far so good. You haven't stormed out or broken anything yet, despite this being such a flagrant waste of your time."

"I didn't realize _storming out_ was an option, but thank you for acknowledging that this _is_ , indeed, a _waste of my time._ "

Kylo made a point of angling the "face" of his helmet to Phasma, addressing her.

"Why am I here?" When she quirked one sharp, blonde eyebrow at his words, he added quickly: "Captain?"

"The General expressed an interest in seeing how your training was coming along. If you recall, it was his idea that you come to me in the first place."

_Shit... she's right._

The thought of Hux knowing all along what had been happening, that the Captain may have even been relaying information to him directly. Telling him how she'd brought Kylo Ren to his knees, made him bleed, made him beg and cry and thank her for each lash, each strike. The warmth of his skin, fueled with embarrassment and fury, was making the closeness of the helmet rather more claustrophobic than usual. He hoped that the General couldn't see his hands shaking. He thought about reaching out through the Force and choking the smug little smirk from his face, trying to gauge whether or not it would be worth it before Phasma inevitably intervened.

Hux, meanwhile, shifted to place his elbows on the armrests of his chair, steepling his fingers together in front of his chest. The fabric of his sleeves fell down just enough for a thin strip of pale flesh to become visible below the cuff of each black leather glove.

“Lord Ren, if my head should suddenly explode through your less than impressive “powers” I'll have you know I'll be most disappointed.” He didn't need to physically perform the air-quotes for them to be audible in his tone. Kylo swallowed a grumble, everyone was constantly underestimating him. No matter, it would eventually be their downfall, he decided. This in mind, he straightened his posture and tried to relax his stance a little, not allowing the General the satisfaction of seeing how he was being needled by the situation. The lack of a retort caused a flicker of bemusement to flit across Hux's face, one eyebrow raising slightly as it dawned on him that Kylo Ren was being awfully well behaved for a change. Considering the circumstances.

“Well well... I dare say you seem to be making some considerable progress already.” Hux's voice was like silk wrapped around a stilletto blade. “However I can't help but think you're hiding behind that security blanket you call a helmet. Now that it seems we're all in polite company, it would be appropriate you remove it.”

Kylo swallowed, not daring to move in the fear that his struggle to retain composure would give way, resulting in catastrophe. That, and everyone in the room suddenly becoming minutely intimate with Hux's various vital organs. He caught sight of Phasma out of the corner of his visor, her eyes locked onto his and threatening to be Very Disappointed should he disobey. Apparently that was all it took, and with a resigned sigh, he lifted his hands to his helmet and unceremoniously yanked it from his head, slamming it onto the surface of the table by his side. He kept one hand rested atop it's battlescarred dome, and glared at Hux as if to say “ _Happy now?_ ” Suffice to say he couldn't ignore the subtle change in Phasma's expression, which had settled somewhere in the region of “pleased”. The seedy little voice which he'd managed to subdue so far made a small ugly noise in the back of his mind.

Hux remained seated, and it seemed his tormenting of the Knight was not over as he beckoned Kylo over. Despite the unrelenting hatred for the man, he obeyed. _I've come this far, right?_ Besides, he'd had a taste of showing Phasma how well behaved he could be in front of others, even if “others” was just Hux, and dammit it had felt _good_. Despite himself, he wanted more.

Kylo moved down the room away from the door, abandoned helmet watching him walk the length of the long conference table, down past the rows of empty chairs to the other end. Pulling up before Phasma and Hux, he stood as casually as he could manage, arms at his sides, aware at all times of Phasma's cool gaze appraising him. He tried not to look too apprehensive when the General stood, pushing his chair back in the process, and began pacing a languid circle around him. He could feel Hux's eyes looking him over, judging him. It was a similar sensation to the feeling of Phasma's icy stare, still rooting him in place from a few paces away, in that there was something vaguely pleasing about it. He couldn't shake the slimy, negative connotations that came with the gaze being attached to Hux, however, and he supressed a shiver. It was also around this point that he realized that this had been the first time Hux had seen him without the helmet. Kylo swallowed nervously, then instantly became angry at himself for doing so.

Seemingly pleased with what he saw, Hux ceased his pacing and stood beside Phasma once again, just in front of his chair. Even without her helmet she stood a good several inches taller than the man. A fact Kylo filed away for later while he struggled to cover a smirk,raising his hand to scratch at an itch that didn't exist.

“Something amusing, Lord Ren?”

“No..” Kylo caught Phasma's eye once again and before he could help himself he added, with a complete lack of its usual venom “.. General.”

Hux quirked an eyebrow. Up close, Kylo could feel Hux's energy through the Force as he often could with Phasma. Unlike the Captain, who radiated cool, comfortable control, Hux's energy was more akin to meticulously organized and restrained chaos. He could practically feel the man running endless concepts, plans, strategies though his mind. It's presence like the hum of a well-maintained and highly advanced engine. It was constant and a little overwhelming.

“So, as you appear to be in a particularly compliant mood this evening..” Hux took a step back, slowly lowering himself into the chair once again. “And since it appears you do so enjoy licking the boots of our own Supreme Leader at every available opportunity..” He slowly crossed his legs. “I feel it is time my own received similar attention.” To emphasize his words, he gave the foot of his crossed-over leg little wiggle. A miniscule movement. Barely even noticeable. To Kylo he may as well have been flipping him off with both hands and blowing the loudest rasberry in the galaxy. He would have been impressed at the self control he was excerting over himself, were he not currently concentrating every aspect of his being into not reaching out, plucking the General's larynx from his neck and feeding it back to him. He put most of the motivation for this down to Phasma, who he could just about catch in his peripheral vision, glacial eyes glinting in the light. Trained on him, as always.

Kylo's fists were still visibly shaking and showed no sign of stopping anytime soon. He was clenching his teeth together so hard, for a brief moment he wondered if the muscles in his jaw would give out before they shattered. Looking away from Hux's face, which was currently resident to one of the most dangerous smirks he had ever witnessed, down to the shiny leather of his boots, and back again. Chest rising and falling faster than usual, Kylo realized he was losing control of his autonomous bodily functions and was breathing heavily. The uncomfortable twist in his stomach had returned with a vengeance, and was not mixing well with the potent cocktail of hatred and disgust he felt already.

He had been inactive for too long, staring dumbly at the General. Hux cleared his throat lightly, his tone of voice laced with a faux-sweetness which did nothing to hide the edge beneath.

“My apologies. Perhaps I did not make myself clear...”

The next few words hit Kylo like a suckerpunch to the brain. The trace of lilting sing-song dropped instantly from his voice, face switching from a smirk to a frigid glare.

“ _On your knees, Ren_.”

With a shaky breath, Kylo's knees buckled along with his resolve. He landed on them hard, not bothering to register the sharp pain which jolted up both thighs as they connected with the slick tiled floor. Unable to look either Hux or Phasma in the eye, he hung his head, dark curls falling around his temples. He didn't need visual confirmation of the expression on Hux's face to _feel_ the smug satisfaction pouring off of him in waves. He barely registered any of it however, as he was still reeling from how the command had struck him. Knocking him down. If he was honest with himself, he went willingly.

“I'm waiting..”

It was almost as if his higher functions were watching the actions of his body from a control room currently suffering technical difficulties. Watching through the glass and screaming out their concerns, hitting all the buttons and levers with no result. He moved almost without knowing how or why, reaching out and placing both gloved hands on the tiles, shifting himself forward. Every moment of this madness felt like a betrayal of himself, but he couldn't stop. Not now. The shame was... heady, and intoxicating. Everything which made the situation worse, the hardness in his pants, the almost palpable sneer on Hux's face, the fact that Phasma was seeing him like this, all served to feed the hunger in the pit of his stomach. No, not his stomach. His center. The very core of his being.

The heel of Hux's boot was almost touching his shoulder now. Kylo found that he'd leant forward, holding himself up on his hands. Crouched on all fours like an animal. The realization ran through him like electricity. He found himself swallowing a moan as his lips parted after a brief moment of hesitation. The higher faculties mutely screaming and waving from their closed-off control booth were making it clear that this was the point of no return. There was no coming back from this. As he turned his head and extended his tongue, he felt Hux hold his breath. Pushing out with the Force a little more, he sensed the increase in the General's heartbeat, the thrill of Kylo's submission coursing through his veins. The tip of his tongue finally pressed against the cool leather of Hux's boot. The mixed energies of Phasma and Hux, not to mention his own, were a veritable cacophony of noisy feedback. Satisfaction and pride from Phasma, running low, an undercurrent to the potent concoction of power and lust pouring off of Hux. Yet, to an outsider, it would merely be a man on his knees, a man in a chair, and a woman standing and observing. No sound, but for the breath of Kylo, embarrassingly heavy as he took his time giving the General's boot as much attention as he could muster.

After a time, Hux shifted in his seat, uncrossing his legs. It didn't take a Force-reader to sense his obvious arousal, which made Kylo feel rather pleased with himself. After a few seconds passed and neither of them made another move, Kylo dared to raise his head and catch Hux's eye. The General's tongue slid out to lick over his lips slightly, moistening them before speaking.

“And the other one.”

Not a question, another command, yet this one softer. Kylo was too far gone to fight it, the taste of polish in his mouth almost strong enough to make him gag. Almost.

He waited a moment for the General to re-cross his legs and raise the other foot up, but after a while realized that wasn't going to happen. Throwing another cursory look up at Hux and seeing the calm expression he was struggling to maintain, blue-green eyes betraying him as they stared intently down at Lord Kylo Ren, Master of the Knights of Ren. Daring him to disobey. Urging him to continue.

Breaking eye contact, Kylo lowered his head. Hands pressing their palms down either side of the General's foot, he lowered his head. He obeyed. Hunkering down until his arms were holding his face mere inches from the floor.

Hux had barely allowed him to press his tongue to the other boot for more than a few moments before leaning forward in his seat, reaching out a gloved hand to lace its fingers through the hair at the back of his head and pull. Slowly, but permitting no resistance. Kylo had none to give, and complied without complaint. He was pulled up, knees jerking forward to try and prevent from falling against Hux as he was raised up to the point where his hands no longer reached the floor. Face held just below and in front of the General's, who was looking him over once more. Taking in Kylo's placid, broken expression as if admiring his handiwork.

“Very good...”

Kylo wasn't sure if Hux had been speaking to him or Phasma. Either way he decided he didn't care.

 


End file.
